Okay, I lied, he lost two teeth. Okay, I lied again, we know exactly where they are. They fell right the fuck out of his mouth; one a victim of Mister PBJ, in the kitchen, with a gob of peanut butter, and the other a victim of Miss Apple, on the Blue’s Clue’s plate, also in the kitchen.

The kitchen is a dangerous place to take your teeth into, these days, Watson.

The Tooth Fairy extorted us out of four shiny quarters last night (what, you only give them one? cheap fucker…) and she’s coming for payback again, tonight. We leave the Baggie with their ex chopper in it under their pillow, and replace it with The Baggie O’ Quarters. Imagine their surprise.

Nat looks like shit today. Like she stayed up most of the night waiting to spot the Tooth Fairy. John commences to snoring like a hog, and sleeping like a log, but Nat lurks, oh yes she does.

To no good effect, though, because the wife is A) not stupid and B) has to answer The Call Of The Bladder in the early AM (must be her prostate) and has programmed herself to do the tooth-switch at the crusty crack of dawn, when all good children have lost consciousness.

John alarumed me some, showing up at my elbow, blood drooling over his chin, when he should have been brain-deep in Dora. We have been sopping up his Special Sauce, here and there, off and on, all weekend. I get this odd craving for grenadine. Beware of ‘tards bearing teeth…

It seems regurgitating one’s dreams in public has gotten popular in blogdome as well, so here’s one that has me sipping bourbon and feeling off-centered on a Sunday morning before 10am:

I was desperately trying to get to my oldest son’s High School football game where he was quarterbacking, and every obstacle that could get in my way, did. There was a flood, but I made it around the washed out road…there was lightning, and trees fell, but I finally made it to the stadium, and trying to find a parking space in this muddy field was impossible, so I finally said screw it and dumped the car and headed to the stadium entrance on foot…it was clogged with people, so I ended up jumping the fence and pushing and shoving my way through until suddenly, there was no resistance at all, and people began streaming back out towards the parking lot…I burst out onto an upper landing, hoping for just a glimpse of my son, but the band was filing off the field, and groundskeepers were beginning to clean up…I asked someone where the after game party for the players was going to be and he pointed in the direction of the other side of the stadium from where I was. Again, I ran and struggled to get over there, even vaulting a fire that someone had started to burn the leftover paper decorations and trimmings from a high school football game, and when I got to the picnic area where the party had been, everybody had already gotten on to several dark green, military buses, and were pulling away from me. They were all in some kind of drab military uniform, and I spotted my son in the window of one bus as he passed by, and I screamed and waved to get his attention, but he didn’t seem to see me and the bus pulled away…

I never made it to one of my sons football games…ever. Oh, I tried, but the divorce, work, and all of life’s other petty bullshit kept me away from him. I regret this more than I regret the death’s of some of my loved one’s that have passed on…

…had one of the proudest moments of my life.I had bought some cheap-ass cookies. You know the kind, the crisp creme wafers that come in white and pink and brown.

I was feeding my small children like they were baby goats at the petting zoo, and I munched one and gave my wife another, and, gourmand that she is, she began to inquire as to what was the ‘magic flavor’ that these cookies contain that makes you scarf the whole package and snuffle in the wrapper for crumbs.

Ever helpful, I opined that perhaps it was the “squeezings of the vaginal warts of the Prophet Mohamud’s wife”, whereupon she lurched quickly to the downstairs bathroom and vomited.

She is now sitting queazily on the couch as we speak, mopping her brow, and trying to hold back more gorge…boy is she pissed.

My other proud family moment was about six or seven years ago, when one of my now Marines was about thirteen or so.

I was joking around with one of his older brothers, while he was eating dinner by himself at the table, minding his own business.

I remember I said something about ‘giving an elderly woman head was like spreading open a grilled cheese sandwich’, and, out of the corner of my eye, I saw him puke up quietly onto his plate…boy was he mad.

I think I may have dislocated a couple of ribs, I laughed so hard.

I was in a theatre some years ago, staying on the barf theme, and it was a horror movie, and there was some pretty enthusiastic mayhem going on up on the screen. It was graphic, and ugly, and there was no music, and you could hear the cutting and the gargled groans and the splash of blood and viscera, and you could just feel the audience all tense and primed…

So, I mimicked a real grotesque vomit sound, all “bluuuurrrggghhh” and all, and some chick a few rows in front of me just lost it, hurking wildly, and you could hear the splash bigtime, and then some chick behind me blew chunks, and a real puke-fest ensued.

It was awesome.

I’m guessing I triggered at least five or six full glottal pukes, and goodness knows how many other saliva drooling private hurk-fests (“I will not puke…I will NOT puke”uuurrrrghghghg).

Well, I’m sending my wife away for the weekend to a quiet place in the mountains for a ‘retreat’, away from me and the squallin youngn’s…don’t need her freaking out and engaging in an act of terminal child-bathing cuz she never gets a break, and she snaps one day.

The husband of that crazy bitch in Texas, you know the one, bitch got a ‘little overzealous’ while teaching her kids to snorkle… he should be thrown, bound and naked into the cage of a Viagra’d up mountain gorilla…and did you see that malignant cunt on Fox News today, slugging her four year old daughter? She goes in the cage next. First (and lesser) offenders should be forced to watch the video tape as a warning that next time it could be their ass getting reamed by Koko and his Big Pink Banana.
Fuck privacy, I’m glad that the proliferation of security cameras is catching people like this baby-bashing douchebag…I wanna reach up her snatch and rip out her reproductive organs, like a bloody distributor cap and some spurting plug wires…some people just aren’t fit to breed, and they’re just gonna pass on the disease to their kids. I’m almost afraid to see how that poor little girl turns out, assuming she survived the beating.
I once assisted a DA Homicide Investigator in securing a piece of evidence from a crime scene…the evidence was the entire west wall of the home’s dining room. The wall was decorated with several interesting and colorful blood-spray patterns, indicating where some animal rat bastard had bashed his toddler son’s head against it many, many times. The DA felt that it would be an effective exhibit to wheel into the courtroom for the jury to see.
It was.